


Let Go

by AFey



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 11:36:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17724437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFey/pseuds/AFey
Summary: When Andrea left her in Paris, Miranda understood loss in its most brutal form. She understood that with this loss, the fundamental part she’d always felt was missing, grew from crevice to canyon.





	Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> Includes heterosexual content, though none of it graphic.
> 
> To S: for seeing and knowing.

A.

It was a cold winter’s night when Miranda Priestly lost her virginity. God, how she’d always hated that word: lost. Like the decision to have sex with someone she cared about involved anything remotely close to loss. Like being intimate with her boyfriend, Paul, was a careless action.  

No, she had planned it in advance. It was deliberate, perhaps even calculated, but she’d listened to her friends’ accounts and was determined that she’d be in control of her first sexual experience.

And it wasn’t bad, per se.

There was awkwardness, certainly, but no pain. She considered it...pleasant. Foreplay, and her position astride Paul, ensured that whatever happened that night was because she was ready for it.

There was no explosive release, fireworks or shooting stars. The earth didn’t move. She began the night self-contained, her emotions and thoughts well hidden. Her innermost desires were constrained even as Paul ran his heated hands across her body. And the night ended much the same.

No, she didn’t feel loss that night. Instead, it would be more accurate to say that she felt like something was missing. As the years rolled by, she wondered if what was missing was something fundamental within her.

B.

Giving head wasn’t something that ever brought Miranda much pleasure. Beyond the lure of control - the reality that she had a man by the balls - she was never particularly aroused by the act.

Until Andrew, her first husband, she had deigned to perform oral sex on very few sexual partners. A trend she easily justified to herself since on most occasions she was expected to give without reciprocation.

She supposed that was her fundamental objection. Always being the one who gave and gave as if she were unworthy of receiving the same in return.

But Andrew was different.

He’d approached oral sex with enthusiasm and delight, without anticipating that Miranda would automatically return the favour. A move she appreciated and responded to by being an active participant.

Willing and giving, but never truly enraptured by the experience.

When they separated, the recriminations flowed fast and strong, both sides convinced of their own moral rightness. Amongst the accusations Andrew levelled at her, cold and distant were the two that shook her most. Insults that had been flung in her direction by other lovers, but troubled her deeply when expressed by the father of her children. If she were incapable of being warm and present with him, then perhaps she’d never be capable of being so.

C.

Between Andrew and Stephen there was Victoria.

Victoria with creamy skin that smelt of jasmine and Bulgarian roses. Victoria with auburn hair that drew the eyes of admirers, both secret and known. Victoria with her perfect, athletic body that was capable of both giving and receiving pleasure.

Compared to those who came before, sex with Victoria was probably the closest Miranda came to ever making love. The two of them in bed felt like the most perfect symphony, an exquisite arrangement of bodies and minds by which Miranda was surprised and unprepared.

And that was the problem, of course. Miranda Priestly was never surprised or unprepared, and as the mother of two young girls, she refused to live a life that left her...unsettled.

So, Victoria became the one she abandoned, walked out on with only the briefest of explanations.

Cruel and uncaring were the words launched in her direction, dual knives to her back as she exited the modest apartment. She agreed with the first, but took exception to the last. If she were uncaring then the ending would have brought her peace of mind. Instead, for the first time, she understood loss.

D.

Stephen replaced Victoria, though naturally he was unaware of that fact. It’s not that she didn’t love him. She did. But it was the sort of love expressed remotely, from behind bulletproof glass, and it took Stephen years to realise that while chosen by Miranda, he’d never be embraced as he desired.

The fights escalated and oddly, or perhaps not, so did the sex. Harsh words exchanged in whispers since neither of them wanted to upset the twins, led to rough fucking. A development she rather enjoyed. Not because it brought her any closer to Stephen. Instead, it introduced her to something previously untapped in her psyche. Something that she wished to explore with someone else, some day.

This time she was the one abandoned, or at least she let Stephen believe as much. The truth was she could never be abandoned if she neglected to give herself completely.

E.

When Andrea left her in Paris, Miranda understood loss in its most brutal form. She understood that with this loss, the fundamental part she’d always felt was missing, grew from crevice to canyon.

Andrea’s eyes, always so expressive, said more than words ever could. Miranda felt judged, knew she had been found lacking. Without words, the proclamation was made: cruel, uncaring, cold and distant.

Miranda returned to her hotel room that night, the glamour of the mandatory parties leaving her untouched. With a scotch in her hand, she stood on the balcony, shivering, and realised her fundamental mistake: abandonment is indeed possible when you have failed to give yourself completely. Perhaps if she had given Andrea everything, she would have stayed.

It was six months before they were in the same space again. They gazed at each other over glasses of wine and through unspoken mutual agreement engaged no further.

Until they both stood outside the Museum of Natural Arts. Miranda looked up at a forlorn and shaken Andrea on the steps - what a reversal of roles - and gave an irritated jerk of her head.

Together they sat in the back of her car, sharp words exchanged behind the safety of the privacy screen. The frustration grew until finally Andrea brought an end to their argument by flinging herself at Miranda, lips and tongue continuing the barrage but in a much more appealing manner.

A quick exit from the car, swift steps up to the townhouse, and then they were in enveloped in the silence. A silence that was soon broken by rough gasps, loud moans, and calls from Miranda to be fucked harder and harder.

Afterwards, Andrea kissed her cheek, gazed at her and said, “I see you,” and then held out her hand and pulled Miranda towards the stairs.

Miranda spent the following week wondering exactly what Andrea had seen.

After the first month, Miranda realised she loved Andrea. It was not just lust, a foolish thought she’d entertained for far too long. It was not a need to reclaim her youth. It was a love that left her open and vulnerable, and filled her with trepidation.

So of course she spent the next month starting arguments, the fear of being connected and needing another person a foreign concept that sharpened her edges and made her uncomfortable.

A look from Andrea, and then, “I know you, Miranda.”

A jolt of fear as she contemplated the ramifications.

Andrea shook her head and then walked towards her, resting her hand between Miranda's breasts.

“I know all of you.”

She spent the month after that making amends, resisting the urge to give up or retreat. Choosing instead to strengthen the bond that had sprung to life without her consent.

As the months passed and they slipped into a routine that was comforting, but never mundane, Miranda realised that the haunting sense of something being amiss had abated. The intimacy of a life lived together, the reality of knowing another person completely, and being known in return, had filled the crevices, canyons, and all the spaces inside of her.

 


End file.
